Quidditch Quandaries
by Northumbrian
Summary: Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts there has been an annual Quidditch match between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. When a third school enters, what will happen? Albus Potter is about to find out.


**1. Tri-Quidditch Tournament**

At the very top of the world, well within the Arctic Circle, there is a bleak and remote spot known variously as Treriksröset, Treriksrøysa, and Kolmen valtakunnan rajapyykki. The meaning is the same no matter which of three languages is used. This is three-border-point, the place where Norway, Sweden and Finland meet.

Lying in an endless landscape of towering arctic peaks, vast pine forests, and frozen plains, the three-border point is not merely an insignificant mark on a map; it is, literally, a concrete reminder of an otherwise unmarked border.

The lands around this incongruous lump of concrete are a seemingly infinite wilderness. These are the lands of the midnight sun, the place where the Northern Lights flash and flare across the wide winter sky. This vast wilderness is home to bear, elk, wolverines, and the magnificent golden eagle. It is also home to creatures which are much more exotic, although very few folk are aware of that fact.

Deep in the wilds, some one hundred and fifty kilometres from the three-border-point—though in which direction is uncertain—stands a range of jagged, snow-capped mountains called the Trollfjellene. These mysterious mountains are the subject of many stories and legends.

Some folk stubbornly deny the existence of these mountains and, as no such range is marked on any map, either Muggle or magical their scepticism is understandable. Among those who do believe, there are several points of agreement. All claim that these mountains encircle a wide forested valley called Ørnengen, and that they are so treacherous that they cannot be scaled. Many also claim that, in addition to being home to the numerous mountain trolls that give the Trollfjellene their name, the highest peaks are also home to a large colony of Swedish Short-Snout dragons. If true, then there is no doubt that the presence of trolls and dragons would act as a disincentive to even the most foolhardy of mountaineers.

All across northern Europe, those magical folk whose blood is pure know that the mountains and the plains and coniferous forests of the hidden valley, Ørnengen, are real and that they cover an area of almost two thousand square kilometres. They know because they spent their youth in the place.

During the long arctic winter the land of Ørnengen is covered in a thick layer of snow. In the summer, the plains and forests are criss-crossed with streams of meltwater. From the moment the thaw begins, ice-cold waters tumble rapidly down the mountainsides and meander through the forest to meet their neighbours. Along their journey, hundreds of streams become a few wide rivers and, eventually, even these waters all join to create a dark and desolate lake, Knytsfristadjärvi.

This body of water, which remains frozen for almost half of the year, is eventually connected to the Gulf of Bothnia via a series of large lakes and rivers. The dark lake, Knytsfristadjärvi, and the lands surrounding it, can only be accessed by the tortuously twisting river, the Trassligaflod, which winds its way through narrow mountain gorges to drain it.

Because of the hostile and effectively impassable barrier created by the Trollfjellene, approaching Ørnengen from any direction other than the river is impossible. Possibly for this reason, the many human residents of the area all live on the cold still waters of Knytsfristadjärvi, on a large island at the northern end of the lake.

A bleak black castle stands at the southern end of the island. Seemingly carved from a rocky outcrop, the castle is the only building it. It is, in fact, the only stone building within Ørnengen. The tall, narrow windows which pierce its almost seamless, stygian walls command excellent views over both island and lake. This dark, forbidding castle is home to the most northerly, and most secretive, magical school in the world. The island is called Durmstrang, and the castle is the renowned Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning.

Castle Durmstrang is a simple stone rectangle, two storeys high. At each corner of the rectangle there is a circular stone tower two storeys higher. Perched on top of each of these squat towers there stands a slender tower half the diameter of the one below. Each of these upper towers is crowned with a dome of aged green copper, and inside one of them, a meeting is taking place.

* * *

The year 2021 was drawing rapidly to a close; the Winter Solstice was only a week away. It was not late in the day, but in the far north it was that time of year when the sun rose tentatively above the horizon, scuttled across the sky for a few short hours, and then crept away to concentrate its warmth on the planet's southern hemisphere. Outside, arctic winds howled like angry banshees and battered ineffectually at the castle walls with flakes of snow. Durmstrang was huddled in icy gloaming, although it was barely after noon.

Within the castle, lights burned brightly, keeping the gloomy dusk at bay. In the northernmost tower, the Drachenturm, two women and a man stared out of a window. As quickly as it had arrived, their brief glimpse of the distant Trollfjellene Mountains had vanished, lost in the swirling snow and ponderously darkening sky. Now all they could see were the snow-clad trees on the banks of Lake Knytsfristadjärvi.

The central figure of the trio was a tall, red-robed woman. She turned away from the window, and returned her attention to her guests. The slender and elegant blonde—who appeared to be no more than thirty years old—gave her companions a polite, but close-lipped smile and motioned them to be seated. This was the school's porcelain-skinned deputy headmistress, Professor Sara Elen Rapp. She watched her guests as they moved across the room to their chairs.

The wood-panelled room was dark and gloomy. The chairs were solidly constructed, heavy, high backed, and unpadded. The huge desk was leather-topped, and the leather was the same blood red as Professor Rapp's robes. On its surface lay a roll of parchment, an inkstand, and a quill.

The only man in the room was heavily built and his fair hair was beginning to thin. His face showed the faint traces of ancient scars, and his hands were calloused and worn. The second woman was tiny, olive-skinned, and elaborately coiffured. Her thick black hair was piled and pinned in an elaborate upward sweep. Despite being wrapped in thick furs, she was shivering.

'More tea, Professors?' asked Professor Rapp.

'Yes, please, Sara,' said the blonde man.

'Perché non c'è il caffè in questo pizzo?' the tiny woman muttered to herself. She lifted her head and stared into the face of the blonde woman. 'I drink only the coffee, Professor Rapp,' she said sharply. 'And Professor Wolfensohn should have been here more than fifteen minutes ago. I hope this is not an indication of the efficiency of this school.'

'I can only assume that he has been unavoidably delayed, Professor Falcione,' the elegant blonde woman smiled apologetically. 'Our Headmaster is a very busy man.' She turned to the other man. 'Milk and sugar, Neville?' she asked.

'Yes, three sugars, please,' said the fair-haired man.

Sara Rapp obliged, adding the sugar with a flourish. As she reached forward to hand the delicate cup and saucer to Professor Longbottom, he spoke again.

'Even after all these years, is there still some resistance from your Board of Governors?' he asked. His question was perfectly timed, and the slight shake in Professor Rapp's hand was magnified by the cup and saucer. As he took the cup from her hand Neville Longbottom gave a pleasant smile, and brushed his fingers against her hand.

'A little,' Professor Rapp said, as she could hardly deny it. 'But I'm certain that the Headmaster will be able to placate the Board.'

'The cold doesn't bother you.' added Neville mildly. It wasn't a question.

'No,' she told him. He'd been an Auror, she reminded herself.

As she retreated to her own chair, and poured herself a cup of tea, Sara Rapp observed the Beauxbatons representative. Professor Alessandra Falcione was busy reassessing Neville Longbottom. Falcione, Sara was certain, had dismissed Longbottom as a slightly overweight bumbler. Didn't she know, Sara wondered. Didn't she realise that this ordinary-looking man was no fool; this was the famous "Snakeslayer" Longbottom, hero of Hogwarts and friend of Harry Potter.

It was certainly no accident that Hogwarts had sent Neville Longbottom to the meeting. Sara wondered what the Auror Office knew, and what they feared. Perhaps Head Auror Potter was hoping to use his friend to infiltrate Durmstrang. Perhaps it went higher, perhaps Potter's formidable boss, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione Weasley was checking out the school. After all, Durmstrang was now the only school in Europe to enforce a Purebloods only admissions policy.

She was still contemplating possibilities when the door burst open and Headmaster Olag Wolfensohn loped into the room. 'Sorry for the delay,' he growled. Sara watched her guests carefully. Professor Falcione started, and began to reach for her wand, Professor Longbottom calmly and calculatingly watched the Headmaster. Sara saw Longbottom's eyes flicker from the Headmaster's elongated canines to his hairy face and equally hairy hands. The Headmaster sat at his desk and tapped his claw-like yellow fingernails on its leather surface. 'Well, let's get it over with,' Wolfensohn snarled.

'Your governors have agreed then, Headmaster?' Neville asked.

'By one vote, despite my best efforts,' the Headmaster said. 'We will not be joining you this year. However, starting in the twenty-two – twenty-three school year, Durmstrang will join the inter-school Quidditch cup. I hope that this works, Professors.'

'Hogwarts and Beauxbatons have been successfully running the exchange every year since the Battle,' said Professor Falcione firmly.

'As you know, it was former-Headmistress McGonagall's idea,' said Neville. 'She asked your predecessor to join, but he declined.'

'Because it was merely a way for Hogwarts to heal wounds,' snapped Wolfensohn. 'The idea of your school fielding one Quidditch team, made up of players from all four of your Houses was simply a way to bring your petty and factional Houses together.'

'But now it is so much more,' said Professor Falcione. 'It is a learning opportunity, Headmaster. A select group of students, one girl and one boy from each year, plus the Quidditch team, spend two weeks in the host school before the inter-school game. With the addition of Durmstrang, we will need four weeks of course, as…'

'I'm well aware of what I'm signing up for,' snapped Wolfensohn. 'I have, after all, spent almost three hours listening to my Governors debate the issue. Let's get this over with, and then you can leave me to run my school in the way I see fit.'

Standing, Oleg Wolfensohn unrolled the scroll, took his wand in his left hand, and placed his right onto the centre of the scroll. Neville Longbottom and Alessandra Falcione also stood and placed their wands in their left hands. Falcione glanced at Neville, and hesitated. Neville did not. He placed his hand on top of Professor Wolfensohn's hairy, claw like hand. Falcione then placed her hand on top of Nevilles.

'I speak for Hogwarts. Is Beauxbatons ready?' asked Neville.

'Sì,' said Falcione, nervously licking her lips.

'Is Durmstrang ready?'

'Jā,' growled the Headmaster.

All three touched the parchment with their wands. What looked like thin, glowing wires snaked from each wand, slithering across the parchment before sliding up and around the three hands until it looked like a tangled, luminous, thread and it bound the three hands together.

'Durmstrang pieņem Aliansi,' said Wolfensohn.

'Hogwarts agrees to the covenant,' said Neville.

'Beauxbatons accetta l'alleanza,' said Falcione.

The trio looked at each other, and spoke in unison. 'Three schools, one contest. The covenant of the Hogwarts-Beauxbatons Cup is dissolved and remade. Where there were two, there are now three. Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang will meet every year, four weeks before Easter, and compete in a friendly contest, the Tri-Quidditch Cup. As guests, we will behave with courtesy, as hosts, we will treat all visiting pupils as our own, and we will grant them every protection. This we vow.'

The tangled threads of magic flashed, flared, and then coalesced into a tiny ball of white light, which darted across the desk to the quill. As the three removed their hands from the parchment the writing, too, was removed. The quill leapt from the inkpot and skittered rapidly across the page, rewriting the covenant.

'It's done,' said Professor Wolfenson. 'You may leave.'

* * *

'What an unpleasant man, if he is a man,' said Professor Falcione as she stood in front of the fireplace, preparing to leave. 'He's as hairy as a wolf.'

'He is a man,' said Neville. 'He was reckoned to be a genius, a prodigy. At age eleven he was convinced of his abilities, so he decided to become the Wizarding world's youngest Animagus. He failed, and ever since he's been mostly man, but partly wolf.'

'A hard lesson on the foolishness of youth,' said Professor Falcione, shaking her head. 'Farewell, Professor Longbottom. I will see you in the Spring.'

'All youths are foolish,' said Neville. 'And please – call me Neville.'

'Thank you, Neville. Please call me Alessandra,' said Professor Falcione.

Bon voyage, Alessandra,' said Neville as the tiny woman picked up a handful of Floo powder.

'Arrivederci, Neville,' she said, smiling. 'Beauxbatons!' She threw the powder onto the fire, and stepped into the flickering green flames.


End file.
